


Toska

by archangelwithashotgun



Series: Tumblr Prompts [29]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Kiss, M/M, One Word Prompts, Pre-Slash, Sabriel - Freeform, Slash, Soul-Searching, Toska - Freeform, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:26:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/archangelwithashotgun/pseuds/archangelwithashotgun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Toska (Russian): a dull ache of the soul, a longing with nothing to long for.</p>
<p>Sam had always felt a aching pressure within his chest. He just didn't know what for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Toska

It started when Sam was seventeen, around the time he finally admitted to himself and accepted the fact that he was bisexual.

Pressure. That was really the best way Sam could describe it. Just a consistent, noticeable pressure within his chest. Sometimes it pulsed and flared out when life in general was going badly, a thrum of what felt like longing throbbing deep inside him. Sometimes it mellowed down enough so that it was hardly felt.

But it was still _there_. And Sam had no idea why.

When Jessica died, it was horrific; the pressure weighed down on his chest until he was practically suffocating, and it took so much out of him to keep his sobs silent during the following nights in motels rooms with Dean. He honestly felt like he was going to die from the heaviness in his heart pressing down into his lungs alone, that he was going to carrying this aching bowling ball in his chest forever.

But then something odd happened. They took what looked like a haunting case in Ohio, and they encountered the Trickster.

When Sam first met him, under the pretense that he was just a charismatic janitor working in Crawford Hall, something changed. Sam stared into those glimmering amber eyes, narrowed with flirtatious mirth, and… the pressure lifted.

It _lifted_.

Gradually, slowly, but damn it was noticeable.

But then they discovered that the janitor was a Trickster, and then Dean ran him through with the wooden stake, and the pressure settled back down into his chest, heated embers sinking inside of him.

Terrified, Sam understandably mentioned nothing of this to Dean. But when he fell asleep in the Impala on the trip to the next case, his minds was full of dancing golden eyes and low chiming laughter, and his chest felt lighter.

After that, it was a whirlwind of conflict.

The Trickster revealed himself to be alive, and for some reason that fact alone caused Sam’s heart to sing while at the same time bleed, because this was the monster responsible for killing Dean on a continuous loop, and because he was _alive_.

Then the Trickster eventually was outed as the Archangel Gabriel, and just… Sam didn’t know how to make heads or tails out of the fluctuating ache of the pressure within him. He ignored it as best as he could, because by now he was certain that the Trickster – Gabriel – had something to do with what he was feeling ever since he was seventeen years old. He didn’t want to give it any more thought than what was necessary; he be ridiculed, or worse, Gabriel might just kill him from whatever accusations (did Sam even have anything to accuse him of?) Sam aimed towards him.

Then… Gabriel died.

They were racing down the road, putting as much distance between them as Elysian Fields Hotel, and suddenly Sam sucked in a gasp, eyes blowing wide with shock.

“Sammy?” Dean exclaimed, alarmed, frantically switching his gaze from the street to his nearly convulsing brother in the passenger seat.

Sam only grunted out another sharp gasp, hands grasping at his chest. Oh God, _oh God_ , he couldn’t breathe. _He couldn’t breathe_. His mind threw him back to the night Jessica died, the suffocation of the grief he felt, how tight his chest became with the intense build of pressure.

This was worse. So much worse.

“Sam, talk to me!” Dean cried. He turned his eyes to the rearview mirror, glaring ferociously at their traveling companion. “Are you doing this to him?!”

Kali narrowed her eyes, tilting her head. “I’m not doing anything,” she drawled nonchalantly. “This isn’t me, this is…”

“What?” Dean barked, and Sam even managed to wrench himself from his hyperventilating state enough to hear her response.

“It’s referred grief. Gabriel has just been killed.”

That was all Sam could take to hear before his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the pressure and ache became too much, Dean’s frenzied cries echoing in his ears.

::

“How am I not dead?” he asked when he woke up, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Dean, sitting on the edge of the other motel bed, stiffened. “What do you mean?” he finally asked quietly.

“When Jess died, I…” Sam replied, aware but uncaring that his tone was a monotone mask of indifference. “I thought the pain of it, the weight on my chest… I thought it was going to kill me. And this, this is so much worse than that. How am I not dead yet?”

Dean bowed his head, hand rubbing nervously against the nape of his neck. He seemed to take notice of the fact that he was treading through dangerous waters, so tearing Sam a new one for apparently grieving over a monster-turned-douchebag Archangel that they didn’t even _like_ was not an option at this point. So the eldest Winchester merely sighed and shook his head.

“You’re not, Sam,” he muttered roughly. “You’re still here.”

“I don’t want to be.”

Sam surprised even himself at the sheer amount of truth ringing in those words.

::

Over time, he got better. Sam still felt like there was an anchor in his chest, tethered to his heart as it threatened to take it down, but… he got better. He managed.

Dean didn’t speak to him about it after that day, and Sam was grateful for it; the fewer reminders he had about Gabriel, the better. It was difficult though, because everything seemed to remind him of Gabriel to a certain extent. Like candy, or tabloid magazines articles they found hunts in, or janitors they had to interrogate, or reruns of Dr. Sexy, or _every time_ he saw Castiel.

Sam managed.

Until it was early one morning three years later, when insomnia got the best of him and he was browsing through the Men of Letters’ library. Sam huffed out a long breath, scanning the array of books to be organized. There was the sound of fluttering feathers echoing through the silence of the room, and Sam rounded the corner of the bookshelf, a greeting ready on his lips. “Hey, Cas—“

He froze.

Gabriel smirked slowly, raising a hand in a small wave. “Heya, Sam.”

And Sam couldn’t have controlled his actions even if he tried.

At first, he remained still, gaping, silent.

Then the pressure in his chest gave a fierce _tug_ , and suddenly Sam was marching across the room, heading straight for Gabriel, whose eyes had considerably widened in surprise at Sam’s advance. Sam paid no heed, instead reaching out for Gabriel’s hips, fingers coiling frantically over the denim of Gabriel’s jeans, and yanked hard. A small gasped yelp escaped Gabriel’s mouth right before Sam covered it with his own.

Under his grip, Gabriel stiffened in shock, his lips slack against Sam’s. A heavy pulse surged through Sam’s chest, and the hunter pulled Gabriel closer, pressed himself in even tighter.

It took a moment, but Gabriel eventually sunk into Sam’s embrace, hands cupping Sam’s shoulders and squeezing, and he leaned into the kiss.

That was it. At that moment when Gabriel began to kiss him back, the pressure suddenly lifted from Sam’s chest, alleviating Sam’s lungs and heart and suddenly Sam could _breathe_ properly for the first time since he was seventeen, and Sam gasped heavily into the kiss.

For the first time, Sam felt light. Free. _Alive_.

The hunter heaved out a dry sob and pushed his lips tighter against Gabriel’s, swiping his tongue into the archangel’s warm and compliant mouth with a gentle moan.

Gone was the aching yearning for things unknown, replaced by the incredible feeling of relief of having finally found it. Even if it came in the form of the most infuriating, dangerous, funny, gorgeous entity he had ever met.


End file.
